Jason O'Keefe stepped up to the mound at Desert Christian High School.

He gripped the ball and let it fly.

Four years after his big sister Michelle was murdered, with a year to go in high school, Jason

was an ace pitcher, six feet four inches tall, with serious college and pro

prospects. And he looked apart, but with his strong chin and that cropped hair with the

slick back cowlick. Still, the passing of years hadn't done much to keep the grief at bay.

Really, the only thing that helped that I used to help me get through it, I guess, was baseball.

But really, there was no getting over it.

He'd idolized her, his big sister, his protector,

and she'd been so happy zipping around in her Christmas present Mustang, that Michelle was shot to death in that bright blue car so close to home.

Well, who in his place could get over a thing like that?

Made worse by the outrage that there had been no arrest.

So he immersed himself in baseball, and it helped,

as did a powerful sense of belief he carried around with him, like a shield.

After my sister died, I started carrying a Bible everywhere I went.

No matter what, whether it was on the baseball field or not,

I had a pocket Bible in, in the back of my pocket.

He'd been given a Bible verse two years after the murder.

It became his favorite.

Jeremiah chapter 29, verse 11.

Before I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for you to prosper,

plans for your success, and plans for your future.

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